Dancing Jax

by Robin Jarvis

  With a thunderous blast, the Dark Door crumpled like tin and shot across the fractured courtyard, clanging like a discordant bell, tolling the cataclysmic end.

  The shadows within the concrete bunker were churning thickly. Streaks of blood-red flame came flying out. At once, the huge Christmas tree ignited and fire engulfed every branch.

  Then from the gaping doorway burst a shining crimson shape. It flew to the burning spruce and spiralled swiftly up the trunk before leaping back to the scaffold round the Keep. The steel poles turned a cherry red as it climbed and the boards turned to ash.

  On the roof, the Harlequin Priests observed the pinnacle of flame the tree had become and heard the roar of He who was returning. Raising their arms in adoration, they turned to greet and worship Him.

  A glare, like an angry dawn, rose over the roof’s edge.

  The Harlequins’ eyes shrivelled like raisins. Their faces charred and flaked away, as their bodies became torches.

  Lucifer ascended the Waiting Throne.

  26

  DESPITE BEING OVERAWED by the sight of the audience beyond the castle walls, Maggie had still insisted that finding the postern gate was their only chance. Conor argued strongly, but she was adamant. He tried to make her see sense. There was no way they’d be allowed to get out of here. But she was determined to lead Charm’s girls to a place of safety. The other shepherds and Lukas had total faith in her. Emma and Sandra wanted to break out too and, as Conor couldn’t suggest an alternative, it was decided.

  While Martin Baxter was being led to the Ismus, they were hurrying along the walls towards the rear of the castle, running round incomplete towers and over plank bridges. Passing the great, glittering Christmas tree on their left, they made their way behind the Keep and were overjoyed when, up ahead, they saw a flight of steps leading down to the largest door any of the aberrants had ever seen.

  “That’s it!” Blueberry Muffin cried out gleefully. “The back door, the back door!”

  The other girls took up her cries and surged forward, running heedlessly into the shadows of a covered walkway that ran between them and the stairs.

  “Not so fast!” Maggie called as they charged past her and the other shepherds. “Be careful!”

  The little sheep didn’t listen.

  “Wait!” Conor shouted. “Come back.”

  “Oh, let them have a laugh,” Emma told him. “Poor little sods.”

  “There’s still jackals on the loose,” Conor answered. “Been too long since we’ve seen or heard them. They could be lying in wait in there.”

  Suddenly Blueberry Muffin let out a scream, swiftly followed by her friends.

  Gripping their swords, fearing the worst, Maggie and Conor rushed into the covered walk. The other teenagers raced after them.

  Moments later, when they reached the girls, they were astonished to find them laughing.

  “Webs!” Dandelion and Burdock explained. “There was webs all across here. We ran into them.”

  “Doggy-Long-Legs?” Maggie asked urgently, glaring around at the gloomy corners.

  “Not them, silly,” Lemon Cheesecake told her. “Just ordinary spiders’ webs.”

  “They’re still horrid and scary when they wrap round your face,” another girl put in.

  Maggie and the others almost wept with relief and they hugged the giggling flock and ruffled their hair for frightening them.

  The spiders had arrived from greenhouses, with the out-of-season plants for the ornamental gardens. They’d tried to escape sudden exposure to the winter cold and had spun large webs, but they hadn’t survived a day. Maggie glanced up at the long wooden ceiling, where many small, curled-up bodies dangled from broken, frosty threads – and something else. It looked like a large smut or fuzzy speck of black fluff, snagged on a gossamer strand.

  “We go extra careful from now on,” she cautioned everyone. “Lambs stay behind us older kids, yeah? No running off without us.”

  The girls promised.

  And then the clock had struck midnight. The fireworks erupted overhead and the chimes of Big Ben were broadcast over the speakers.

  They didn’t understand what any of it meant, but it was the best possible diversion.

  Conor and Maggie were about to lead the way down the steps when the eerie hush descended, as the world began reading Fighting Pax.

  Forgetting the stairs for the moment, everyone crowded to the embrasures to look out and see what was happening. Staring out from the battlements, they witnessed the huge expanse of e-readers glimmering across the landscape and wondered what was going on.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Maggie muttered, alarmed by how loud her voice suddenly sounded in that profound silence. “As long as them zombies are stuck in Mooncaster, we can get past them.”

  “It is the answer to a prayer,” Lukas breathed, crossing himself.

  Conor nudged Maggie. “OK, I take it back,” he admitted. “This mad idea of yours might just work!”

  “Course it will,” Blueberry Muffin told him. “Maggie’s chuffing brilliant.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, smiling. “Bit bossy though.”

  “Bloody hell, Westlake,” Emma hissed. “Give your codpiece a rest.”

  “Makes a change from when he was the Jack of Clubs,” Sandra added with a laugh. “He wouldn’t look at anyone who didn’t have four legs.”

  “Well, I’ve had better,” Maggie stated flatly. “So he’s wasting his time if he is.”

  “Oi!” Conor objected, but it was all good-natured teasing. Their spirits were high. At last escape from this harrowing place actually seemed possible and they dared to let themselves hope.

  Then the helicopters began to crash into the crowds and they remembered there was still a very long way to go before they would ever feel safe – if they ever would.

  “Down the stairs,” Maggie whispered grimly. “Time to ditch this dump.”

  Conor went first, then Emma and Sandra. The little sheep followed, with Lukas and the shepherds. Maggie counted everyone down. Before joining them, she glanced back warily, along the shadowy covered walk. Nothing was prowling behind them, except…

  That unusual black fluff caught her attention again. Now it was bobbing and jiggling about on the spider’s thread. It wasn’t caught in a breeze; the other strands of broken web around it were barely moving at all. It was as if this dark fleck was trying to free itself.

  Curious, she stepped beneath it for a closer look. It was more like a seed head – like sooty thistledown.

  Maggie reached up.

  The postern gate was a huge arched double door, several metres wide and tall enough to drive a lorry through. It made Charm’s girls feel as small as Lego people. The iron hinges were longer than Conor’s arms and the timbers were covered with studs the size of his fist. Three bolts, as thick as his wrist, were drawn across the centre and he began wrenching the first aside.

  The others were tackling the stout wooden beam that barred the door, sliding it along the runners, when Maggie joined them.

  Her face was so ashen, Conor stopped what he was doing and asked if she was feeling all right.

  Blueberry Muffin tried to hold her hand, but Maggie pulled away.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Had a funny turn up there just then, that’s all. I should’ve ate more earlier.”

  “You sure?” the boy persisted. “You look half dead.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Killer chat-up line, Westlake,” she said sarcastically.

  Conor frowned and started pulling the second bolt back.

  Charm’s girls stared at Maggie, their young faces creased with concern. She didn’t look at all well.

  “What’s that?” Sandra said suddenly. “Listen…”

  Everyone froze, expecting to hear the clattering of jackal claws on the cobbles. Instead they heard a delicate clip-clop. It was too dainty a sound for a horse.

  The little sheep had heard it before.

  “Open it!” they
cried to Conor as he struggled to reach the final bolt that was high above his head. “It’s the bones. The bones are here!”

  Conor didn’t know what they meant. Jumping up, he tried to knock the bolt back, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s stuck!” he said.

  “No, it’s you,” Emma berated him. “You’re useless. Give me a bunk-up – I’ll do it. And watch where you put your hands!”

  Before he could lift her, they heard the steady pace of the light hoof falls turn into a trot. Everyone stared at the deep shadows, where that outer wall met the ground, and saw a hideous shape cantering towards them.

  It was the unicorn skeleton. The Ismus had let it patrol the castle’s rear walls as a guardian of the postern gate.

  Charm’s girls screamed and pulled the others away.

  “You can’t fight that!” they cried when Conor reached for his sword and the shepherds braced themselves.

  Shaking its macabre head, the skeleton ran at them.

  “Back to the stairs!” Conor yelled fiercely.

  The girls spun round. To their horror, they saw that Captain Swazzle and his Punchinellos had gathered silently in the courtyard behind them. Bezuel was now standing at the foot of the steps and the four jackals were by his side, snarling menacingly. There was no possible escape.

  The unicorn’s jaw opened and it emitted an unearthly shriek. It barged in front of the great wooden door and the children fell back from it in terror. Rearing up, the skeleton thrashed its front hooves in the air.

  “That’s the way to do it!” Captain Swazzle crowed. “Oh, yes, oh, yes!”

  The other Punchinellos snickered, their beady eyes flicking from one petrified face to the next.

  “We fetch you,” Swazzle barked. “Ismus want. You come.”

  The aberrants couldn’t believe how near they’d got to escaping. Just a minute or two more and they would have succeeded. It was devastating. Sandra couldn’t bear it.

  “We were so close,” she uttered bitterly. “So close.”

  “Now!” Swazzle bawled.

  The sheep stepped falteringly towards him. The shepherds followed.

  “You can sod right off,” Emma shouted defiantly. “I’m not shifting. I’m done – that’s it. Show’s over!”

  “Emma!” Conor warned her. “What are you doing?”

  “They won’t be taking us nowhere good, Westlake,” she said. “I’m not gonna make it easy for them. I’ve had it. They want me, they’ll have to carry me.”

  A horrendous grin split Swazzle’s face. He had been hoping for some resistance. He had expected it to come from the mouthy female shepherd, but she was unusually quiet. At last she had been cowed.

  Swaggering up to Emma, he bared his mottled teeth.

  “You no obey?” he asked, just to make certain.

  “Swivel,” she said.

  “Swazzle,” he corrected.

  “No,” she told him, raising her hand. “I meant swivel – on this.”

  His eyes bulged in astonishment and he shuddered. Then he staggered back, away from the dripping dagger in her grasp. Clutching his throat, he collapsed, his stumpy legs flailing, as founts of dark blood spouted over the cobbled yard. Gargling hideously, Captain Swazzle died.

  “Now that is the way to do it,” Emma complimented herself.

  The other Punchinellos gaped at their dead Captain in shock, stunned that anyone would be so bold – and stupid – as to kill him.

  “You’re crazy!” Conner bawled at her. “What did you do that for?”

  “Oh, wake up, you tool. We ain’t getting out of here, and I wanted to take one of them evil gonks down before I kark it.”

  “Still only thinking of yourself,” he said angrily. “What about these kids?”

  “They was on their way to the abattoir anyway. So stop whining and get stuck in with that sword.”

  “Don’t have a choice now,” he seethed.

  “You too,” Emma told Maggie. “Carve up as many as you can.”

  As one, the Punchinellos screeched shrilly. Brandishing their blades and squawking vengeful oaths, they charged – leaping over their Captain’s body and splashing through his blood. Bezuel ordered the jackals to attack and lunged after them. The children huddled together. The unicorn skeleton stamped its hooves and lowered its head.

  Sandra was so petrified, the world seemed to slow down and she perceived everything that happened next in minute detail. She saw the savage faces of the advancing Punchinellos contort into endless vicious forms with each new scream for death. She witnessed the powerful muscles of the demonic jackals flex and quiver as they leaped to tear the aberrants apart. Hearing the unicorn’s baneful screech, she turned and saw it lunging for her.

  Then the timbers of the door behind it rippled and a brilliant flash of light shone between the widening joints. The wood splintered. The unicorn fragmented and a blast of sound slammed into her.

  The explosion threw her off her feet. Everything was spinning. Sandra saw the young girls flying past her. Punchinellos were tumbling and jackals were rolling through the air. Then she struck the ground. Everywhere was noise and smoke and confusion, yelps and groaning.

  Children and Punchinellos were sprawled on the cobbles, among splinters of burning wood. Conor raised his head. A trickle of blood ran through his blond hair. He reached for his sword, but it had been hurled across the yard. Emma had cut her hand on her dagger and she swore loudly. Charm’s girls were already sitting up and tapping their ears. The bang had been deafening. The shepherds crawled to them and checked they were OK. Maggie was lying face down. Lukas nudged her gently.

  Maggie muttered under her breath and turned over.

  She looked on the wreckage of the postern gate. It was in shattered pieces. The large hinges were swinging at angles, with only split shards of wood attached. Smoke was billowing through the ragged gap. Shifting her gaze, Maggie saw the unicorn’s smashed and scattered bones strewn about the yard. A jackal lay on its side, whining, impaled by the twisted horn, and another had been killed by the flying shrapnel of an iron stud. The other two were dazed and staggered drunkenly when they attempted to stand.

  The Punchinellos were croaking and gasping. Bruised and jarred by the explosion, they picked themselves from the floor and retrieved their swords.

  A sliver of unicorn bone was stuck in Bezuel’s chin and he tore it out with a squawk. None of them knew what had happened, but they’d had a bellyful. It was time to butcher these aberrants.

  “Throw down your weapons!” a hectoring female voice commanded beyond the ruined gate. “Down, I say!”

  Bezuel glared at the swirling smoke and shook his fist defiantly.

  “Stand and disclose,” he demanded.

  “I won’t tell you again!” the unseen woman warned. “Put the swords down and step over to the wall, with your hands behind your heads.”

  The Punchinellos glanced at one another in bemusement. Who was that out there?

  The children peered at the doorway and held their breaths as a tall figure came swishing serenely through the smoke.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Emma breathed.

  The little sheep clasped their hands to their mouths in wonder.

  Thoroughly startled, Bezuel and the other guards blinked – and then broke into mocking laughter.

  Stepping into the courtyard, Gerald Benning’s alter ego, Professor Evelyn Hole, arched her finely drawn brows and, over the rims of her spectacles, regarded them severely.

  She was dressed as Malinda. A beautifully made costume, with a full crinoline dress of ruched gold silk over layers of peach tulle, was a relic of her one and only foray into pantomime as Mother Goose. With a shawl of silver lace, sprinkled with sequins, it was perfect for the retired Fairy Godmother of Dancing Jax. Bandages wrapped round folded paper plates, splashed with red ink and stapled to the back of the bodice, formed Malinda’s mutilated wings. A length of aluminium tubing, bent at one end where a plastic Christmas star was gl
ued, made a fine magic wand to complete the outfit – and it had all worked like a dream.

  Malinda was one of the most important Aces in the book. No one would dare challenge her. Evelyn had sailed through every security check on the way to the castle without hindrance.

  The Punchinellos could scarcely believe what they were looking at. As Evelyn, Gerald made a very convincing, slightly comical, elderly woman and the guards didn’t realise they were staring at a man in drag. The sight of Evelyn was so unexpected and out of place, and her manner so imperious, they couldn’t help but jeer and snigger.

  “Get behind me, children,” Evelyn’s clipped voice instructed, beckoning them with the wand. “What funny little lambs. I shall feel quite like Marie Antoinette at the Petit Trianon, playing at being a shepherdess.”

  The girls didn’t know what to make of her and hung back shyly. She looked so incongruous and surreal. Conor was totally confused and Sandra thought she’d hit her head and was hallucinating. Then Lemon Cheesecake saw through the wig and make-up and squealed with delight.

  “It’s Gerald!” she cried. “Maggie – it’s Gerald. He’s not dead!”

  “Don’t speak to me about Gerald,” Evelyn upbraided her. “The lazy old fool decided to stay in Felixstowe, leaving me to do all the dirty work. What a muddle he’s made of everything! It’s a good job I’ve assumed command to sort out this mess.”

  The girls rushed to her in delight. Evelyn summoned the older ones and they approached with baffled faces.

  “You too,” Evelyn called to Maggie who was still on the ground. “Don’t dawdle, dear.”

  The Punchinellos stopped laughing. This joke had gone on long enough.

  “You no go no place,” Bezuel ordered. “The rejects is ours.”

  Evelyn straightened her back and glared at him witheringly.

  “You’re supposed to be standing against the waIl, you odious little gnome,” she said. “You had ample warning.”

  “What you do about it?” he snarled.

  “You leave me no alternative. I shall have to destroy you.”

  The guards hooted once more. “You, fairy queen? You and what army?”

  A second figure strode through the ragged doorway. It was a young, fierce-looking woman in a khaki uniform, her bright, platinum-blonde hair tucked under a military cap.